Throat still wet with chocolate, I search for apocalypse:
too-dry grass in Southern California turned to powder,
China green tea pressed to dust by elephantine pearls,
furred chinchillas floating in the Pacific. Their sand-
colored fuzz as a nest wherein I lay. Nest of pollution,
oil drained from a parked Mercedes with a dagger
and thrust. Nest of resin and surf wax among blood.
I am alone until I think of death. An old love crouches
naked on the shore, snorts powdered grass, green
cocaine. He gums the earth drained from within me,
asks if the world is ending. I answer with language
he cannot understand, hydrangeas from my mouth.
